I’m tired of boys telling me I’m worth it,
When they only walk away.
Because you were the 13th boy to lay hands on me,
with little to no intention to stay.
I guess I should be used to it,
hearing those ringing words,
“You deserve the world!”
Yet the world fell at your hands
Because even though you say I am worth it,
I still feel second hand.
like the canvas you laid paint on,
but you wish you never had,
because the picture that we painted,
though it truly wasn’t bad,
didn’t quite breath perfection to your life.
No the image was all too real,
not like the fairytales that I had waited so long for.
No my canvas has been broken, and ripped, and torn.
My edges are all rough, no longer soft and smooth.
So stop telling me I’m worth it,
that the perfect man exists…
Because the perfect man wants a new canvas,
not one he has to fix…